


skin dreams and phoenix flames

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Artist Derek, Body Paint, Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Flirting, Getting Together, M/M, Model Stiles, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 10:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14692206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: When Stiles decided to model, he expected to sit around in classes, posing while bored. He never expected to become the canvas on Skin Dreams. And he also never expected Derek. And he's pretty sure Derek never really saw this coming.





	skin dreams and phoenix flames

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for prompt #276: Paint at Fullmoon Ficlet. I saw paint and I just had to do body paint. Have you ever seen the show Skin Wars? (Some amazing art). So I had a little fun with this. Enjoy!

This is not the kind of gig Stiles ever expected to be hired for.

He put his resume in with the agency stating that he wanted to model for art. That he’d be happy to (try to) sit still for hours on end while a classroom full of students tried to make charcoal pictures of his body. That he’d be able to remain soft and not create a pornographic panic in the middle of modeling. That he’d be willing to have people stare at him and try to pretend that somehow they can turn him into art.

He never expected to be the canvas.

And yet.

And _yet._

Somehow he ended up here, on the set of Skin Dreams, and has spent five weeks stripping down to a dance belt, nude underwear, and nothing else in order to have his body painted.

The point of the show is simple: premier body painters compete to see who does the best work under pressure. They started out with a dozen, and each week one has been voted off, with two going last week, so they’re already halfway to done.

When Stiles was hired, he figured he might be picked the first week, but honestly, if someone wants a male model, there are better options to choose from. Like Isaac or Jackson, both of whom look like model material. And in the end, he realizes that the girls are more popular. Apparently everyone likes painting boobs. Or the way their bodies are shaped. Or the fact that they don’t have to worry about tucked dicks coming untucked.

It’s been a pleasant surprise that he’s been picked every week, mostly by Scott for the first three weeks, but Kira snapped him up in week four, and Lydia took a chance on him in week five. He’d like to think he’s done them proud, since all three of them are still in the competition now.

But they’ve reached the point where the model pool has four men and eight women, but there are only six contestants left. Half of them will definitely be left out.

It’s strange lounging around mostly naked, waiting for the first contestant to come in. The painters draw for lots early in the day, but then compete on their own for an advantage. The winner of the solo competition gets to pick first. So far there have only been two painters who’ve had first choice: Lydia Martin and Derek Hale. Stiles is positive one of them is going to win the show.

He’s also positive that he’ll be done modeling long before that, since neither of them has given him a second look yet.

It’s Lydia on top today, and she walks in, points at Allison, and snaps her fingers. “Dryad, come with me.”

Allison glances at Stiles, shrugs her shoulders, and gets up to follow Lydia out the door.

Jennifer shifts in her seat, stands before the door opens again and Scott walks in. He grins, gaze shifting over the models, expression falling.

“Lydia nabbed her, sorry.” Erica shrugs, and it’s a distraction the way her boobs move. She has such good boobs. Like, perfectly shaped, and Stiles is envious of the way that Boyd’s been painting them consistently for five episodes straight.

Scott’s gaze lingers on Erica for a moment, but she glares at him until he looks away. His brow furrows as he shifts between the remaining women, and Stiles figures he must have something already in mind. He lifts his hand, but Scott doesn’t even look at him before calling out, “Malia, come with me.” He crooks his finger, and Malia stalks over to him.

She’s like a panther. Full on predator, the way she walks.

When Boyd comes in, Erica meets him at the door. He doesn’t say a word, and she follows him out.

Jennifer lets out a small growl when Kira steps in, quiet and hesitant. “Oh,” she says. “Wow. So like, what, half the girls are gone? But all the guys are here. And hm. Damn. I wish I could take two of you, because oh my goodness, wouldn’t that be just so perfect? But I’m only allowed one. Um. Brett? Isaac? Come here.” Kira points at the spot right in front of herself.

She has to look up at both of them. She’s tiny; they’re tall, and her lips purse as she walks around them. “Oh. Wow. Um. This is hard. I mean. You’re not hard. Well. Muscles are hard, those are really very nice, and thank you for nothing else being hard. I’ve never painted a male model before. Is that obvious? I mean. I’m sorry if I do anything awkward. Isaac, I’m going to use you. Do you like wine? And grapes? You’ve got that whole Greek profile thing going, I think. This’ll work. Come on.”

There are only two contestants left; Stiles has a feeling he’ll be left sitting in the green room. Danny’s worked primarily with Brett and Jackson during the competition, and aside from a bad start with Jackson, Derek’s only worked with female models.

Stiles sits back down. He’s done for the day.

The door opens, and both Brett and Jackson meet Danny at the door. He waves them aside, and makes a show of looking at the women. He lingers over Hayden, and considers Paige for a long moment. He avoids Jennifer and Kate, but pauses with Braeden.

Jackson coughs. “If you pick one of them, Derek will be pissed off at you.”

“Unlike other people, I’m not interested in getting under his skin,” Danny fires back. “And I don’t mind a mouthy model. But I’m not interested in the women, sorry. Jackson, come with me.”

Jackson smirks, blows a kiss at Brett and Stiles. “So sorry you’re left sitting this one out.” And he doesn’t sound sorry at all.

Derek has yet to pick a consistent favorite model. He started the show with Jackson, which resulted in an epic argument and Derek nearly being voted out of the show. In the second round, Paige managed to trade herself to Ennis, betraying Derek. He managed to pull out a win for the round with Kate, and Ennis went home. Jennifer was his third round model, and worked her magic for him, but he switched to Braeden for the fourth round, and back to Jennifer for the fifth. Stiles isn’t sure what Derek’s looking for, but he’s found something he likes in the girls, even if he’ll never trust Paige again.

When Derek comes in, Jennifer meets him at the door, tucks her hand in his elbow. “I’m ready for whatever you want to do,” she murmurs softly, leaning in close.

He blinks like it’s the first time he’s seen her, and shakes himself free of her touch. “No.”

Braeden relaxes on the couch, stretched out, but his gaze skips over her as well. He lights momentarily on Kate before passing her by with a frown.

Paige doesn’t even get a glance.

Hayden looks up with some surprise, but Derek shakes his head, walking over to Brett. “Stand up,” he orders curtly, and Brett does.

Derek scowls, reaching for Brett’s chin, twisting his head back to bare his neck. “No.”

He jabs a finger at Stiles, then motions at the door. “You. With me. Now.”

Jennifer gets herself between Derek and the door. “But Derek—”

“Stiles,” Derek calls, and Stiles jumps to his feet.

“I didn’t think you’d—”

“We’re not talking,” Derek snaps. “I need you to be quiet, and be a model. Let me transform you.”

“Silence is not my strength,” Stiles retorts.

“Shut up.”

#

Stiles manages silence for all of five minutes.

Derek wrangles him into position, shoving him onto a chair, which isn’t what Stiles expected at all. “We don’t have long,” Derek mutters. “I need to start with your hair.”

“My hair’s fine.”

“Which part of silence didn’t you understand.”

“I understood. I also said I sucked at it,” Stiles grumbles. “Honestly, you know this by now. This is the sixth day of filming. Sixth day where I’m here, anyway, and you know I talk. I talk to the artists. I talk to the models. I talk to the judges.”

“I need you to keep your mouth shut,” Derek grunts. “I’m on the edge here. I can’t afford to have another model fuck up my position.”

“I’m not going to argue with you like Jackson did. I mean, I’m pretty sure he was just mouthing off to see if you’d shut him up.” Stiles snaps his mouth closed, because that probably went too far, if Derek’s snarl is any indication.

He has no idea what Derek’s actually doing right now, but it actually feels good. Derek’s got his fingers in Stiles’s hair, drawing it through the strands, spiking them maybe. But he’s scratching against Stiles’s scalp, and against better judgment, Stiles makes a strangled sound. “It’s not going to help you win, but if you want to keep doing that for the next hour, I’m in,” Stiles murmurs.

Derek tugs on the short strands. “Please just shut up.”

That feels good.

It feels too good.

Well… shit. This is an untimely reaction.

Stiles crosses his arms, tries to hunch in his seat. Derek tugs again and Stiles sits upright, his arms still tight across his chest. Because of course this is happening now. It’s not like they’re even alone. Each artist has their own little mini studio in one large studio. It’s easy for the hosts of the show to move around, checking in on each pair.

It’s also easy to see what everyone else is doing.

Yes, focus on that. Focus on anything but the way Derek is still tugging at his hair, fingertips scraping against his scalp.

Lydia’s working on Allison’s body, painting what’s clearly the bark of a tree. She has Allison lift her arms, and it’s easy to imagine leaves spilling from her fingertips.

Kira’s turned Isaac’s chest into marble, and is crouched down, staring at his backside like it’s going to bite if she starts applying paint. Stiles wonders how she’s ever going to manage to paint his crotch.

Erica’s body gleams under Boyd’s touch, shining bright as the sun. He’s woven something that sparkles through her hair, and when she tosses it over her shoulder, it catches the light in a blinding dazzle.

Scott seems to be painting Malia with faux fur, and Stiles has no clue what’s up with that.

“Stand up,” Derek orders, and Stiles does so without thinking.

He’s torn between dropping his hands to cover his crotch and keeping them across his chest. When Derek grips his wrist and pulls his hands out, Stiles has to let them fall to the side.

Derek raises an eyebrow. “Seriously,” he says flatly.

“You’re the one who started with the hair pulling.” Stiles keeps his voice low. “Hot guy. Pulling hair. It puts ideas into a person’s head.”

He’d like to think that he doesn’t imagine Derek’s gaze dipping to his lips before Derek growls under his breath. “Think about old nuns,” Derek grumbles. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

That’s the one thing Derek’s really good at. Derek does details. Derek does a lot of detail, and a lot of texture, and except for dealing with Jackson’s asshattery in the first round and Paige’s partner swap in the second, he’s been turning out fantastic work. The fact that he managed to rescue the mess Ennis had made of Kate in the first place was amazing.

Stiles knows he’s going to look good when this is done.

He also knows it’s going to be finicky perfectionist detail-oriented work, and it’s going to go right down to the wire.

Derek’s careful as he airbrushes on the base layer over Stiles’s skin. The paint is cool, tickling as it touches him, and Stiles does his best not to flinch. When Derek crouches in front of him, Stiles looks around, finds Danny on the other side of the room and stares at him instead.

Dragon, he thinks. Danny’s making Jackson into an dragon, with wings on his back, and scales all over his body.

A very detailed set of scales that Danny is working on now, crouched in front of Jackson. He has one hand on his hip to brace himself, the other working as he leans in close.

Jackson’s dance belt is failing, too. As much as Stiles hates Jackson, it makes him feel a little less alone. At least he’s not the only one popping a boner in the middle of this.

Doesn’t help his own problem much to be watching that, though.

Stiles huffs. Well, shit.

“What mythology are you drawing from?” The host, Alan Deaton’s voice comes from behind Stiles, and he clenches his hands to avoid flinching and ruining Derek’s work.

“Phoenix,” Derek mutters. He’s working on Stiles’s leg, and as much as Stiles wants to look down and see what kind of detail Derek’s creating, he doesn’t dare.

Because if he stares at Derek on his knees, his problem is going to become a whole hell of a lot worse.

“The concept of a creature rising from the ashes, and bursting into new life within its own flames,” Deaton murmurs. “It’s a good image, but incredibly difficult to convey. Do you think you can complete it within the time allowed?”

Derek pauses, sits back on his heels. “Yes, if you stop bugging me,” he says sharply.

At the next workstation, Lydia snickers.

“Of course.”

Stiles relaxes as Deaton moves on to talk to Scott about were-creature mythology. Which makes sense, and Stiles thinks it might be a good thing that Scott ended up with Malia instead of Allison this time around. Malia’s got that animalistic grace that’s going to work well with the paint.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been on fire before,” Stiles says.

“Fire and feathers.” Derek moves behind Stiles, still on his knees. He works quickly, the brush tickling against Stiles’s calves. “I need you to move like you’re flying when you go down the catwalk. I’m hiding your feet. Can you do that?”

“I can try,” Stiles promises. He’s not the best at that part of the process, and he’s absolutely sure that Derek hadn’t planned on picking him for that reason. “Which model did you actually want?”

“Erica,” Derek mutters, voice quiet. “I was never going to get her, though.”

“Yeah, but her hair and gait would’ve been perfect.” Stiles lets his gaze linger on Erica. He’s still not sure what Boyd’s doing, but she shines enough to outdo Stiles. “No one’s going to forget her tonight.”

Derek scowls. “I know. That’s why I need you to help me out. Keep your dick tucked, and walk like you’re flying. I’m not asking much here.”

Yeah, he is. He really is.

But Stiles will do his damnedest to comply.

“Sorry about my dick. It’s like it has a mind of its own,” he says cheerfully. “I’m thinking about grizzled monsters now, because I really don’t want to think about sticking my dick into a mouth full of sharp teeth with a face that’s so wrinkled I can’t even find the eyes.”

“What.” Derek pauses, looks up at Stiles. “Where did that come from?”

“Pretty much everything turns me on,” Stiles admits. “I have to go out on a limb for a fantasy that’s going to make my dick deflate.”

Stiles thinks he hears Derek mutter, “why me,” but he can’t quite hear well enough to be positive.

“Just.” Derek stops, inhales. “Try to be silent for the next hour. And stay still. This isn’t some simplistic design. I need to win this round.”

And he’s stuck with Stiles because he got last pick of the models.

Except.

There were still six other models left in that room.

“You could’ve picked someone else.” Maybe he shouldn’t say that, open himself up to explanations about how anyone could’ve been better than him.

“Not really, no. They didn’t have the right attitude.” Derek’s tongue is stuck between his teeth as he pulls up a chair, paints Stiles’s lower back.

“You and Jennifer—”

“No,” Derek cuts him off. “Never again. Braeden’s a good model, but she’s too curvy. Same with Paige and Hayden, and they’re short as well. Jennifer’s a bitch who had a thing about touching my ass, and Kate was worse. Brett’s pretty, and so’s Isaac, but they’ve got this tall, weedy look. Out of the ones who were left, you were the only one with the right shape and the right attitude to pull off a creature made of fire. So it’s you. Shut up and deal with it.”

That’s a hell of a lot more than Stiles expected to get out of him in one go. “So, you’re saying Jennifer and Kate are harassing you?”

Derek taps his brush against the small of Stiles’s back. “No. I’m not saying that, because I am not going to get filmed talking about it and distract anyone from my art. This isn’t about who wants to grab whose ass. This is about how well I can paint skin. Even if some people have trouble with that concept.”

Stiles isn’t sure if Derek’s talking about Jennifer and Kate, or about his own issues today, or about the fact that Jackson’s definitely at half mast now.

At least if Danny’s voted out, he can help Jackson wash the makeup off. _Hit the showers_ has never sounded less like a punishment.

“Artists, you have two hours,” Deaton intones, voice echoing oddly off the walls around them. “Be prepared to break in one hour to draw for presentation order. That includes you, Lydia. All models will walk in the order drawn; there are no advantages to order today.”

Malia hisses, while Scott shushes her. Lydia is silent.

If anything, Derek paints faster.

#

Derek again draws the final spot. It pleases him, a small smirk wiping the sour expression from his face.

“The only problem is that you’ll be following Erica,” Derek murmurs. He’s working on the space between Stiles’s shoulder blades, detailing feathers as far as Stiles knows. He lifts Stiles’s arm, places his hand against the wall at just the right angle. He stands close enough to speak softly, breath whispering against Stiles’s ear. “The phoenix following the sun. You’re too alike; the judges will already be overwhelmed by all the gold in Erica’s paint. And she follows Malia. That’s a good contrast between werewolf and Apollo.”

Because so what if Apollo is traditionally male. Erica even has the outer edges of the chariot emblazoned on her thighs, as if she rides.

Jackson will walk first, with Danny’s dragon, followed by Allison as a dryad. Kira’s Dionysushas cast Isaac in marble, and after that will be Malia as a werewolf.

Stiles has to agree; him and Erica in the last two positions are going to be too similar. It won’t help them at all.

“This is going to be a tough round,” he murmurs. “I don’t see a lot of faults.”

Derek’s hand trails down Stiles’s back, lingers at the base of it. “Scott’s technique for fur is lacking in detail. There are places where Malia seems muddled,” he whispers. “Danny’s gotten lost in the scales, and in teasing the fuck out of Jackson, and his work is inconsistent. The scales from the waist down are better then the ones on his chest. The wings, however, are gorgeous. Kira’s made Isaac look like marble, but the things that make him Dionysus are all just symbols painted on him—grapes on his arm, the harp on his hip. Boyd and Lydia are my real competition this round, and I’m relying on you to win for us.”

Derek’s hand goes flat against the edge of Stiles’s hip, fingers curving over the pelvic bone.

“If you keep doing that, I’m not going to be decent to go down the catwalk.” Stiles licks his lips.

Derek watches, so Stiles does it again.

Stiles cocks his head. “Does me talking about going down make you think?”

Derek takes a quick step back, and Stiles remembers what he said about Jennifer and Kate. “Shit,” Stiles swears. “I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t professional,” Derek counters, tone bland. “I’m sorry.”

“Dude, you have been nothing but professional,” Stiles protests, hands up until Derek gently grips his fingertips and lowers them for him, before he could hit anything and mar the paint. “You got stuck with me,” Stiles elaborates. “I’m not a good model for you. Hell, you wouldn’t have come near me if you didn’t need to.”

Derek blinks, pupils dark.

“What?” Stiles asks.

“This competition is about paint on skin,” Derek says slowly, voice soft. “It’s not about who’s harassing who, and it’s definitely not about who’s sucking whose dick, no matter what Danny and Jackson happen to be doing in their off time. That’s all. I have to get through this round, then two more until I’m in the finals. Maybe only one if they have another surprise double elimination. Until that point, all I can think about is painting skin.”

Wait.

That almost sounds like….

Stiles licks his lips; Derek’s gaze drops to follow the path of his tongue, so Stiles does it again.

He smiles slightly. “Got it,” Stiles says. “Dicks stay tucked and no one goes down until you’ve nailed the competition. Then there might be time for other kinds of nailing.”

Derek groans. “I should have kept my mouth shut.”

“Until later, sure,” Stiles says. Now that he’s got a line on this, he doesn’t want to let it go.

On the other hand, he totally respects the fact that (a) this is a job, and (b) Derek can’t afford to lose focus. He blinks when Derek glares at him, then grins, and says softly, “I’ve got you, big guy. Let’s win this round.”

#

Kira is sent home for the round, and while Derek doesn’t win, he and Boyd were the top choices. By the time Stiles is done posing for publicity shots, the artists have all gone back to their house to give Kira a friendly send-off, and Isaac’s already showered and gone. Stiles claims his own shower stall, washes the paint off and wishes he had somebody to help him get the spots between his shoulder blades.

It’s a fun job, but the cleanup really is a bitch.

By the time he gets his hair as clean as his skin, Erica’s the only one in the locker room, although Stiles can hear a shower running somewhere. She straddles a bench, her phone in her hand, and glances up as he stands there, dripping, with a towel wrapped around his waist.

She gestures at the bench, where an envelope sits. “I was just leaving,” she says. “Don’t ask me where that came from, but it’s got your name on it. I’d be careful opening it. Jennifer and Kate passed through and both of them were really pissed off about not being selected. Apparently they said something where Deaton could hear, and he’s not inviting either of them back for the rest of the episodes being filmed.”

That doesn’t really give Stiles hope that it’s going to be something good. “Chances that they’ve poisoned me?”

“Neither of them is nice, but I’m pretty sure they’re not killers,” Erica says dryly. She leans forward, picks it up to hold it out to Stiles. “I’ll be here to call 911, if you want to open it now. Or if you want me to leave, if you need help, just scream. I’m pretty sure Danny’s going to be washing Jackson’s back for a while still.”

Stiles snorts. “At least they get to get it out of their system.” He feels like he should have noticed that happening before now. Or maybe it wasn’t happening before now. Stiles can’t be sure, but he’s kind of glad they’ve figured whatever it is out.

Good for them.

He slips a finger under the flap, pops the seal. A single slip of paper falls out, from a hotel-supplied notepad.

_Stiles,_

_Just because I won’t pick you as my model again doesn’t mean I’m not watching. Plan to be painted in private after the show ends._

_\- Derek_

The towel is not going to be decent much longer. Erica snickers when Stiles tries to pull the towel tighter. “Good news?” she asks.

“Yeah.” Stiles folds the note without showing her and shoves it in his bag. “Get out of here before so I can get changed, okay? I’ll see you on set tomorrow.”

“Only a few more episodes left,” Erica says. She pats his shoulder as she passes by, whispering, “My boy’s going to beat yours, but I’m willing to let them both get to the finals.”

Stiles doesn’t disagree with her assumption. Derek’s his, potentially, yes, and God that feels good.

But she’s got one thing wrong.

“Derek’s going to win,” he says. And when he does, Stiles is going to help him celebrate. So many times, and in so, so many ways.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me [on tumblr as tryslora](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)! If you like my fic, you might also enjoy my original fiction at [Welcome to PHU](http://welcometophu.tumblr.com).


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